


Fractured

by GrumpiestCat



Category: Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpiestCat/pseuds/GrumpiestCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My brother calls it, "paranoid schizophrenia, engineered by Alliance doctors."</p>
<p>I call it, "pretty colors, never-ending noise."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fractured

**Author's Note:**

> I am re-posting fic I wrote forever ago here, so I can have it all in one place. These used to be posted under the pen name Anitchka.

(What he doesn't know is that I'm not swallowing the pills.)

You want to condense me. Shrink me down to nothing, put me in a file. This will not be tolerated.

I was born. This was written - somewhere - and verified. People signed off on it, that yes, River Tam was born to Gabriel and Regan Tam, one older brother, Simon. He was probably jealous. They usually are. Verified, certified, but no guarantees. No promises that your child will be normal, no assurances that everything will proceed on schedule, according to plan.

And River Tam never ever ever was normal.

(I keep them in my mouth until he turns away to prepare my shot - that, I can't dodge, but believe me, I'm working on it. More than five seconds, but less than fifteen - the most was 12.5, the average is 7.3 - just long enough for me to convince him that yes, I'm a good girl, not long enough for them to melt there. He'll never find where I hide them.)

I was stronger, smarter, better, and that kind of difference was tolerated. More than tolerated, encouraged. Out-perform your older brother on standardized tests, they give you accolades. And he probably plotted to poison my oatmeal, but that is to be expected, I'm sure.

Excellence, that, that, that is okay. There were promises. The Academy would be better, harder, I wouldn't get so bored, it would be challenging, it would make my brain stretch out into all corners, and yes, yes, I would still be allowed to dance.

Promises fall into three categories: truth, lies, and we really did intend to, honest, but things got in the way. These, lies. Harder, it was, yes, but not better, and my brain only stretched out because they _poked at it_.

(What he doesn't know is that the pills make me stupid.)

My brother calls it, "paranoid schizophrenia, engineered by Alliance doctors."

I call it, "pretty colors, never-ending noise."

I cut up my mattress once. They thought I couldn't find the pea, but I did. It wasn't even very well-hidden. Square in the center, and you know everyone looks there first.

(They make me _feel_ stupid, anyway. I can't manage calculus, can't remember how to build my time machine, can't figure out how Jayne made the water turn blue. Things don't fall into place like they used to. Nothing fits. It's all purple, with sharp edges. I can't have it cutting into my brain.)

It is impossible to condense me. Don't you think I have tried to shrink, to disappear? Someone always finds me. Gravity defeats me and inertia, inertia plays dirty. Someone forgot to tell it the rules. Or maybe it just doesn't care; I don't know.

It's allergic to shellfish, you know.

I was born, and this was verified. When I die, that will be verified, too. There will be doctors and scientists to make sure that the brain is no longer working, and then people will be very, very sad. I was their best effort, the result of years of research. Their best product.

(What he doesn't know is that I'm not getting better.)

I could have been a triumph. I could have tried harder. The killing was easy, but they wanted more. More than just a trained assassin; those, those are easy to make. They wanted a weapon, a perfect weapon, one fully under their control.

So I am a failure. I am a dot. I am silence. I am noise. I am impossible. I cannot be condensed. I will not fit in your file.

(This is a plot, engineered by Simon. It's why I stopped taking the pills he gave me, too. He's always been jealous, always been silly, always wanted me gone. That's why he sent me there. He only fooled me into thinking that I was the one who wanted to go to the Academy. He was poisoning me, so he could be the smart one, the good one, the best one. I fixed that.)

You think you can fix me. And he is mad at you, because he thought this would be his second chance. Lose me once, shame on you. Or something. His reputation was ruined, and now he thought he would get an opportunity to fix it all. A few more cuts, a few more pills, another sixteen injections, and yes, we will make it work. Brain can be rearranged.

But they wouldn't dare trust me with him again, so I get you.

And I'm on to you.

(What he doesn't know is that I have a knife hidden under my skirt. Shh, don't tell.)

 

 

(fin.)


End file.
